


Oh, Sheila.

by Priamparamparam



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, M/M, Multi, Sniper is on Death Row, enemies to lovers speedrun, for a very stupid reason, this fic is not very serious even if it seems that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26100403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Priamparamparam/pseuds/Priamparamparam
Summary: Matt Mundy, AKA "Sniper" landed himself on death row. Why? Accused of terrorism with a pipe bomb disguised as a box of Kraft Mac and Cheese. However, Mundy knows that it was BLU Spy who landed him there. Casual conversation with you, his warden, opens up some doors that Mundy did not expect to open while in jail.
Relationships: RED Sniper/Reader, RED Sniper/You, Sniper (Team Fortress 2)/Reader, Sniper (Team Fortress 2)/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	Oh, Sheila.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m really not a fan of how this one turned out, so iI deeply apologize in advance.
> 
> Hit me up @falk-hcs on tumblr if you wanna talk!

Once again, accused for crimes he didn’t commit. Of course, Sniper’s whole career was quite illegal, considering he was an employed assassin who didn’t work for the government of Australia. And maybe he could have been placed on death row for the sheer amount of assassinations he carried out.

But the big problem was that, well, what he was being accused of was something he didn’t actually do. For the moment, the lawyers were saying that he blew up the RED headquarters. headquarters with a pipe bomb disguised as a box of Kraft mac and cheese, which was blatantly incorrect. He was both a hundred miles away and actively carrying out a hit on BLU Pyro. It was probably Spy, really. Apparently a friend of Miss Pauling had been there, who was a civilian. The friend had made the mistake of calling the police, which got it filed as an act of terrorism.

By some miracle done by the Administrator, no one looked more closely into RED and their operations, so they were in the clear. But the side effect was that Mundy was stuck in death row, and apparently the Administrator had no intention of coming to get him out. During his trial, good old Soldier had attempted to stand as his attourney, but after Soldier cussed out the opposing attorney for using security footage of Sniper sneaking in with the Mac and Cheese bomb, the jury was pretty sold on the fact that it was Mundy.

So here he sat, his head resting against the bars of his cell as he stared out down the halls. The prison was high-security. The halls were short, with only about five or so cells in the halls, small and cramped. In his specific hall, there was barely anyone. One woman was at the very end of the hall, but she rarely spoke and just tended to mope around in her cell, laying in bed. Apparently she’d been here for months; apparently her crimes were related to dolphins and a schoolbus, but he was in no place to be asking about other people’s crimes.

The other inmate was very low on the list of people to be executed, so she was likely to be there even longer than him. Which meant that his hall’s warden unfortunately poured most of their time staring his cell down. You had situated your chair across from his cell, so you could keep a watch on him like a hawk staring down its dinner.

Most days, you just sat there with your arms crossed and a gun on your lap, zoning out or sometimes bringing books or some music to listen to while you just sat there. Of course, you didn’t slack at all. Pretty much every time Mundy moved, you’d stiffen and fix your gaze on him, watching him for a couple seconds before determining that he wasn’t an immediate threat. He was a gangly 6’1” son of a bitch with no weapons to his name. Practically everything he owned was seized and was just sitting in storage in the back of the building, gathering dust. You pocketed the cool sunglasses sitting on the dashboard, but it felt wrong. Of course, you quickly discarded the discomfort you felt; it wasn’t like he was getting his stuff back. Either way, you couldn’t help but feel just a little guilty about it. You kept then tucked into a pocket on the thigh of your baggy pants for no reason other than you liked them.

Other than the fact you technically stole his sunglasses, you felt little connection with the man only known as “Mundy”. He was damned handsome, sure, and he had some gnarly stitch marks on his abdomen, but other than that, you didn’t care much. At least you had a quiet, handsome man to stare at day after day, night after night, instead of some rude bastard who tried to spit on you for just doing your job.

It was one of the long quiet days where you forgot to bring any sort of entertainment. You just zoned out, hard. With a thousand-yard stare, you let your mind wander to your apartment, your friends who were on lunch break, and a multitude of other things, when a raspy, thick Australian voice interrupted your thoughts.

“I didn’t do it, you know.” He was quiet, and only now did you realize you’d never heard him talk before. Unaccustomed to prisoners talking to you in such a quiet, respectable manner, you arched a brow. 

“Do what, exactly?”

“Look at me. Do I look like the sort of dude who knows how to make a Mac and Cheese bomb?” His face was defeated, and heavy eye bags hung under his eyes. He turned his hands so his palms face upward, and his slouched shoulders certainly made him look worse for wear.

Of course, his quip got a soft snort out of you, amused at his tone of voice. “You may have not made it yourself, dude, but it sure as shit looked like it was you who strutted on in to that building and tucked that Mac and Cheese box under the vending machine, got yourself a bag of doritos, and walked back off before driving off in some subaru-looking car.”

“I drove off in a Subaru?” He sounded genuinely puzzled, rubbing his chin as his face pinched up. Had you not seen the trial on the news yourself, you would have been convinced.

“Uh, yeah, A Subaru. You can’t play dumb with me, sir. You’re already here,” you snickered back, a smirk tugging at your lips. It was the first time a convincted criminal had tried to talk their way out of a jail cell, when their death date was maybe a month or two in the future.

His lip sneered as you leaned back, letting your head rest against the bars behind you. You could feel his grey-blue eyes drill holes into your skull, and the hate radiating off of him was almost tasteable in the cold air of the prison. Of course all prisoners were angry at their jailors; anyone who had a person standing between them and freedom was bound to be hateful. But at least this clown didn’t try to harass you into walking away. It never worked, but people still tried it.

The rest of your shift was silent, but you watched him with a little more attention now. He seemed more interesting now. Why was he still claiming to be innocent despite the fact that he was caught on camera? Weird. Either way, he seemed to go about his regular schedule. A couple hours after he went to bed, you got off work and fucked off back to your tiny, dingy apartment. You ate cold noodles and passed out, barely awake enough to even get undressed. You just shucked off your clothing and catapulted yourself into bed.

The next morning, at around noon, you hauled yourself out of bed and prepared for another shift that would run from 2pm to 2am. You cursed as you looked at your schedule, but spent some time getting ready. Showering, taking some time to spice up some leftover rice for your breakfast, stopping by a sandwich shop and picking up some food. 

You finally showed up a couple minutes in a pretty decent mood, a small smile on your face a you checked in. And this time, you actually remembered to bring a book along. Plopping down in your chair, you surveyed the hall before getting comfortable. The woman in the back sent you a burning glare before calling you a bitch under her breath, whereas the Mundy fellow just turned over in his bed with a groan so he faced the wall.

A couple hours passed as you peacefully went about your business, turning through the pages. At around maybe 4pm, Mundy seemed to raise from his nap and rub his eyes slowly, yawning and cracking his back. “Oh. G’day.” He was terse with you as he slid out of his shitty cot, approaching his orange jumpsuit that he had taken off in favor of sleeping in boxers and a white tank top.

You gave him a grunted greeting, raising a brow at his appearance. He turned so hi back faced you as he put on his jumper again, and you got a view of his surprisingly toned bac. Whew, this man must have been hot shit, even if he was quite the gangly man.

Once again silence came over you two, until an unusual movement from his cell perked your attention. Looking up, you saw him dag over the tiny stool in his room and plop down on it, resting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his folted hands. 

You sent him an unimpressed look over your thick book, pursing your lips slightly. “What?”

“So I drove away in a Subaru.”

“Yeah. Jesus, how many times do I have to tell you this?”

“Where did you find the Subaru I drove?”

“At the base that you fucking bombed.”

“Did you even bother checking for finger prints? I didn’t have the Subaru with me when I was caught; the vehicle is registered to a different man. A french guy who works for Builders Team United. BLU.”  
You paused, crinkling your nose. He could very well have just stolen the car from BLU. “I’m not a detective.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you asking me all these questions?”

“I’m trying to point out to you the oddities of the situation, Sheila.”

The iconic Australian phrase caught you a little off-guard. Of course, he only started speaking to you the day before, so maybe he called everyone that? Either way, for some god forsaken reason, you blushed just a little bit.

“Yeah, it’s weird. But I don’t have a PhD in forensic science or whatever. I’m just a guard, nothing more.”

You had no idea, but Mundy was much more perceptive than you’d assume. He saw your cheeks turn a shade pinker, and he grinned maliciously. He didn’t like you, but it was funny knowing that one little word could fuck with you so much.

Every fiber of his being wanted to continue toying with you, but he was never the most suave man around; he made a fool of himself more than most, especially trying to be flirty, so he know he’d just make it painfully awkward.

So he changed the subject. He couldn’t read the title of the book you had in your hand, so he shifted forward some and narrowed his grey-blue eyes.

“What’s that you got there?”

“Bram Stoker.”

‘Ah, that Dracula bugger?”

“You could say.”

“Huh.”

And with that, the conversation was over. Mundy was completely unsure how to keep going from here, so he just huffed and retreated, going to his hobby of throwing a bouncy ball of rubber bands against the wall and murmuring to himself. However, after a couple throws against the wall, he leaned over and tested the ball against the bars. It was small enough to get through the slats in the iron, and he smiled crookedly.

“You any good at catchin’ Sheila?”

A couple seconds of dead silence passed as you gawked at him. Why was he so easygoing? But then, slowly, you nodded and began to play catch. Being a sniper and all, it made sense his aim was impeccable. You were lucky as well, managing to pass it through the slats every time. As time progressed, a smile managed to worm its way onto your face. You hated it, but this was...fun. No, not fun. It was mere amusement. That’s all.

Your shift passed. He went to bed, woke up when food was delivered to him, and passed back out. You went to bed too. Woke up. Had the same shift, same times. You woke up late this time, though, and bustled around your apartment in an attempt to not get an earful by the higher-ups. You managed to make it in time, but as you ran to your assigned hall, Mundy looked at you with confusion as he sat on the floor. “Overslept,” you explained, causing him to smile and laugh once. A feeling instantly bubbled up in your chest as he laughed, causing you to feel short of breath. Which was bad, considering you were still recovering from your mad dash to your broken-down motorcycle to your station.

“I can’t have you being late all the time. Who else is gonna toss a ball of old, dirty rubber bands with me?” His tone was doused in sarcasm as he rolled his eyes, holding the ball up before tossing it onto his bed.

“Is...that all you have to do in here…?” you asked tentatively, brows knitting. 

“Prison is a strict no-fun zone, it seems,” he replied, snarling his teeth just a little. “But of course it is. You gotta punish the real bad buggers.” He sounded somewhat sad, and you felt a pang in your heart. Silence hung over you. Mundy felt… different than everyone else. Sure, he still probably hated you, but he wasn’t upset he got caught in a sense. He seemed upset at the people who failed him. It was hard to pinpoint why your gut said that you should believe him, but you just did.

“Well, do you want something to fix that?” you asked him, tilting your head slightly. It was very much out of line for you to do what you were about to, and if anyone figured out it was you, you were as good as dead.

“What’d ya mean by that?”

“Here.” You didn’t even let yourself think as you stood up and held the book out to himsliding it through the bars for him to grab. “You wanna read it?” Genuinely, Sniper was surprised you were giving him your Dracula book. He took it in calloused hands, running his thumb over it before looking up at you with surprisingly wide eyes.

“Ain’t you gonna get in trouble for this?” he questioned, worry creasing his brow.

“Maybe.”

He stared at the book, deafeningly silent, before he whispered the quietest ‘thank you’ you’d ever heard. Biting the inside of your cheek, you forced down a smile and nodded. “It’s no problem,” you grunted, before flopping back down.

Another silent shift. But you sort of wanted him to keep talking to you. He had a nice voice, and something about the air between the two of you changed some. It was warmer...kinder. You liked it. And… you may have started to like him too.

Food time came and went. Time flew by, as you just sat there, shit out of luck with nothing to entertain you. Of course you gave your only book to him. Oh well, you’d just bring another. You felt stupid for not giving him the sunglasses that you totally didn’t steal from his camper and then immediately forgot about. 

Far too embarrassed to tell him now, you opted to give them to him later. And finally, curfew arrived. Before Sniper rid himself of his orange jumper, he looked to you and grumbled ‘goodnight’ softly. You jolted, looking at him, but he had already turned away and was getting in bed. “Goodnight,” you retorted, and he seemed to relax physically, a tiny smile on his face hidden by his back.

Same shift times. Same shift. Same schedule. You guarded Mundy for weeks. You two talked, and you felt more and more comfortable with him. While he didn’t talk about it all too much, you were beginning to believe his claims that he didn’t do it. 

By the fourth week, you knew this man was innocent, deep in your heart. He explained who a man only known as Spy was, explained what he could do. And you agreed, it was that French fucker’s fault that this kind, but distant Aussie was stuck in this cage to rot, apparently abandoned by his teammates and his boss.

You felt bad for him, and you felt for him. You started to be unable to wait to hear his voice again, to have casual conversation with him. You’d never loved your job more. Except, well...Mundy’s execution date was slowly growing closer. Whatever you felt, he seemed to be feeling the same. You pulled your chair up right beside his door when you two talked, and he often laced his fingers through the bars so they brushed your boots or whatever part of you happened to be pressed against the bars, depending if he sat on the floor or on his stool.

He knew his date was coming. So three days before he was scheduled to be executed by firing squad, he broke the news. You were sitting beside him, and a natural lull in your conversation about Mundy’s team appeared. He took this to quietly call out your name, which he had learned from your nametag on your breast pocket.

“What?”  
“I...think I.” He rubbed his face with one hand, rubbing the bridge of his nose before sighing and meeting your gaze. “I mighta fallen for ya, Sheila.” You blinked back at him as his brows knit and he looked down out of shame. “I mean, I know this is mighty odd and out of place, but, ehh, you-” he began to ramble, growing clearly very nervous at the fact that he was being mushy and vulnerable with you despite the fact that you kept him in here.

Mundy was surprised by the presence of your pointer finger resting on his lips. “Shhhh…” you murmured, and he stared at you with wide eyes, waiting for you to respond. “I know you didn’t do it, Mundy. I know you’re innocent. And...me...too.” You couldn’t even force yourself to say it, so you just bit your lower lip as he smiled. But then it fell and he stared at the concrete.

“Well that was mighty stupid of you. I’m gonna die in a couple days.” You grunted in emotional pain, closing your fist and swearing to yourself. 

You were victim to blind love. God, you didn’t know why, but the weeks that passed just made you like him more and more. A yearning feeling burned at your heart, to learn more about it, to know him inside and out, to figure out how he ticked.

“Yeah…” you murmured, closing your eyes. Was this man worth it to lose your job for? The fire in your fingertips that begged you to touch him was unbearable, and you hated your job. Your apartment sucked, you cared about none of your coworkers, and all your friends were in different towns. An idea popped into your head.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. I have an idea, Mundy.” He raised his brows, tilting his head, but let it go. He shouldn’t ask, the look in your eyes was deceptively crafty. “Curfew’s coming up, so go and get ready,” you instructed, waving your hand as you pulled your chair away. It was bad for business if someone else witnessed you getting so buddy-buddy with the ‘Mac and Cheese terrorist’. 

Neither of you spoke of whatever plan you had. It was gonna take a little bit of planning. Before he went to bed, he laid on his side and posed like a French girl under his covers, sending you a surprisingly wide smile. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” You turned a bright vermillion, and so did he, clearly unprepared for flirting with you. “Th-thanks. Uh, you too,” you responded before he turned over.

When you finally got off work, you lingered in the locker room for a little longer than usual. A friend of yours used to work here, but quit and never ended up gathering his uniform back up. Casually, you transferred his uniform into your locker, before putting yours in there as well. It was tight, but it worked.

The next morning, you texted one of the other guards. You asked if you could cover her shift if he did yours tomorrow, and she agreed, clearly not thinking it through and being happy to have the day off.

You arrived early as the shift was changing, making the excuse that you just had nowhere else to be. As everyone cleared out of the locker room, you stuffed the extra uniform in your bag, taking out all your precautionary equipment you carried with you in case a jailbreak happened. Another tight fit, but it worked.

Once, when you first started your job, you heard that all the cameras cut for a twelve minute period at 2:30, and came back online at 2:42. So you sat, and Mundy seemed to just wait around, until 2:30 rolled around. Standing up abruptly, you rushed over and opened up his cell, then tossed your bag in. “Put the clothes on!” you snapped harshly, and then ran to sit back down, leaving the door unlocked but still closed. “You have exactly twelve minutes.” Confused, the man spurred into action, dressing at lightning speed. He then held up the bag with a puzzled expression. 

Opening the cell again, you pulled him out by his hand, and shut it behind him. “You sit where I sit for about half an hour. I’ll come get you during my lunch break. Then we run.” Swallowing thickly, Mundy nodded and sat down, tilting his head down so his hat covered most of his face. You moved away to cover your friend’s shift, but paused and handed Mundy his glasses. “Um. These are yours.”

Looking up, his mouth dropped open as he delicately took the glasses from your hands. “Thanks...Sheila…” he whispered, blushing before sliding them over his eyes. You wanted to stay and stare at his cute, blushing face but you had to get to your spot before cameras came back on.

The next half hour was the most stressful half hour of your life. You kept constant tabs on Mundy, peering out into the hall to watch his back. He looked to be sitting the exact same way you did, so everything was probably fine. Lunch break came around and you checked your watch, before departing. 

Stopping next to Mundy, you hissed “let’s go” before starting to walk and picking a random subject to chatter about as he followed you. He nodded along, confused but getting the gist of what was going on; you were dressing him up as a guard so you could successfully slip out and make a break for it. Either you two got out, or you died in the escape. He was going to die tomorrow for sure anyway, so it was whatever. He at least got to have the thrill of escaping with someone he had fallen in love with.

Casually as you could, you two meandered to the parking lot, where your rickety bike was parked really close to his locked and abandoned camper van. Mundy suddenly sped up, pausing by the driver door with a nostalgic expression on his face. He looked so happy to see his hunk of junk. However, the clock was ticking as you tossed him the keys. “We gotta fucking GO,” you snapped, and got into the passenger’s side door. “...We?” he asked, excited and confused at the same time. You were just about to spit a biting insult when the sirens started wailing. 

He got in, fast as he could, turned on the ignition, and slammed on the reverse, screeching out of the parking lot before putting it back in drive and putting the petal to the metal. Down the highway you two shot, you beginning to shuck off your uniform so you could just ‘relax’ in a white tee-shirt and your baggy pants and combat boots.

A couple police cars and an armored transport vehicle started to pull out of the parking lot of the compound, but Sniper knew where he was going, straight to the RED base. Twist and turns flew by as he drove like a maniac, somehow managing to lose the pursuers in the process. And finally, finally you two managed to leave city and haul ass down the highway. 

And with everything calming down, he sent you a sidewards gaze. “So, tell me Sheila,” he said, much more relaxed now. “Did you just sacrifice your job. For me?” Your face darkened, but you nodded slowly. With a smile, he hummed to himself. “Now ain’t that romantic.” It had been hours since you were in the city and no one was even visible on the road, so he pulled over. Since you were already turned to him, he reached out calloused fingers, cupping the side of your face before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. He tasted a little like coffee, and had the overwhelming smell of gun oil, smoke, and mud. It wasn’t a bad mud scent, no, but it was distinctly clay-like. Never in your wildest dreams did you expect to be serenely kissing a man who had been on death row, nor would you expect that man to be a ruggedly handsome Aussie sniper, but you had no complaints.

Pulling away from the kiss, he rested his forehead on yours, and murmured “Well, I think I can loop you a new job, love. Let me take you to meet my team. I have a few choice words with them anyway.”

With a giggle and a nod, you said “Let’s go, then.”


End file.
